Second Overtime | JENSOO & CHAELISA

Chapter XIX

The night after Jennie told Nayeon everything, she lay on her bed in the dark, still in the clothes she'd worn to the diner, staring at the ceiling.

Her eyes were raw and her head ached. Somewhere deep in her chest there was a hollowed-out feeling, like someone had scooped out everything she'd been carrying for years and left nothing in its place. She didn't know if that was relief or just exhaustion.

Nayeon had driven her home in silence, only speaking to say she'd text later, to make sure she was okay. Jennie had nodded, unable to form words. She had slipped inside the house like a ghost. Her mother was in the study. She didn't call out to her. She just climbed the stairs, closed her door, and let the quiet swallow her.

Now, hours later, she still couldn't sleep.

Her mind kept circling back to the years after. The years she'd spent pretending. Being good. Being perfect. Being exactly what her mother wanted.

She had told herself that was survival. And it was, in a way. But it was also something else. Something she'd never admitted out loud until tonight.

She had become what they wanted her to be.

Somewhere along the way, she'd stopped knowing where the performance ended and where she began.

Her eyes burned again, but she didn't have any tears left. Instead, she found herself drifting back to the quiet years between the conversion camp and the first day of high school. The years she'd spent telling herself she didn't miss Jisoo, that she was fine and that the past was the past.

It wasn't. It never had been.

After the school year ended, Jisoo transferred.

Jennie heard it from her mother, who mentioned it with the same tone she used when a problem had been conveniently solved. The Kim girl won't be returning next year. It's for the best. No further explanation. No acknowledgment that a ten-year-old child had been publicly humiliated and driven out of her school because of a letter Chaerin herself had written.

Jennie had nodded. She'd said nothing. But that night, she'd cried into her pillow again, this time with a strange, aching mix of relief and grief.

Relief, because Jisoo wouldn't have to face those whispers anymore. She wouldn't have to walk through hallways where people laughed at her, or sit in a classroom where the teacher shamed her in front of everyone. She was free. Somewhere else, somewhere new, she could start over.

Grief, because Jennie would never see her again.

She would never get to apologize or get to explain. She would never sit beside Jisoo on her bed, their toys tucked between them, and hear her laugh at a stupid joke or watch her make faces at a picture book. That version of her life was over, and she hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

The years that followed were quiet. Jennie kept her head down. She got perfect grades. She went to church. She smiled at the right people and said the right things and never, ever let anyone see that something inside her had gone numb.

Jihyo and Tzuyu remained her "friends" because her mother approved of them, and because staying close to them meant she could keep an eye on them. She learned their rhythms. She learned how to anticipate Jihyo's moods, how to deflect when Tzuyu's comments turned sharp. She became skilled at performing her friendships and shoving her emotions deep down inside herself.

She told herself this was fine. This was normal. This was what being good looked like.

When it came time to choose a high school, Chaerin initially planned to keep her at the same institution. It was familiar and safe. But YG High had a reputation of being one of the best academic programs in the city, and was a direct pipeline to the top universities. Chaerin wanted the best for her daughter. She always had, so Jennie enrolled at YG High.